Torchwood Weddings
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: Rose wasn't marrying Torchwood, she was marrying the Doctor, but that actually made the aliens about fifty times more likely to show up. Add that she herself was THE Rose Tyler, and it was nearly inevitable that they'd be there before the minister.


Written for Challenge 38 over at **then_theres_us** on LJ. Special thanks for the betaing by Poor Sam and the ever fabulous olfactory_ventriloquism.

* * *

**Torchwood Weddings**

"Why are there goldfish in this sink?"

Rose was almost certain there'd been no goldfish in the sink when they'd checked into this room. Most of the time, hotels sort of advertised things like that. Not as an inconvenience, mind: "We apologize for the inadvertent goldfish which may have wandered into some sinks by mistake". No, it was usually a clever marketing feature: "Some rooms include bonus goldfish, in order to make your stay more relaxing".

They were sort of relaxing, after all, swimming around all orange and free against the beigeishness of the sink in the en suite loo of this Las Vegas resort hotel Pete had found for them. They looked healthy at least, for which Rose was quite grateful. "Hello," she said, just in case. "My name's Rose."

Then, she remembered talking to a twig once and snickered at herself. Some people never stopped being silly.

"Hello," said a voice from the fish's sink. "We are goldfish, here to learn the arts of funfairs and living in small glass... ow."

The fish hadn't actually said "ow", or anything at all, really. That was the Doctor, standing in the doorway, getting hit for throwing his voice like that. "So, ordinary fish then? Where'd they come from?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Must've missed a left turn at Albuquerque," he supplied.

"New Mexico?" Rose asked, so completely confused that she wasn't sure which one of them was crazy today. Usually, it was pretty obvious: either he was, or she was for putting up with him, which technically meant that he still was, for putting up with her putting up with him. Basically, it was always the Doctor that was crazy, except there were goldfish in her sink and she couldn't figure out why, so maybe it was a sensible thing and she'd gone 'round the twist at last.

The Doctor shrugged. "Was watching it on telly with Tony. Apparently, missing the left turn at Albuquerque can end you up in the distant past, the seventh inning stretch of a Brooklyn Dodgers home game, a grand opera, a jungle, the French Foreign Legion, a cook pot, and in the distant future in the custody of a very small and very homicidal inhabitant of the next planet over (or wherever he really came from with that accent.)"

"That explains a few things," Rose mused thoughtfully.

The Doctor shot her a glower in the bathroom mirror. Rose glowered back, but neither of them could hold it for more than ten seconds. They gave up and started laughing.

"But seriously," Rose said, leaning against him. "What's with the fish?" She'd left the room right after check-in to finish up her shopping for tonight's event. She'd not been back since. She was absolutely certain there wasn't one shopping list for this thing that included a goldfish.

She'd gotten the dress, the hair, the makeup, the lingerie, and gotten all kitted out, ready to finally give up and give in gracefully to her mum's demands. The woman was technically right - they'd been here five years and neither of them was getting any younger. (They weren't getting any older, either, but neither of them had seen fit to point that out to anyone yet, at least not until they were both sure.)

They'd gone to the chapel. The Doctor'd broken out his new tuxedo (hereby officially dubbed the Tuxedo of Doom Too). Pete and Tony had worn tuxes, and Jackie'd worn a very nice dress, and all the press people and photographers had been coifed like they were attending the society affair of the year, rather than what was laughingly known as a "Torchwood Wedding." (Torchwood Weddings were done quickly and quietly, on the cheap and on the sly, usually to keep the press out but, occasionally, to keep the aliens out, too. Anyone who had a clandestine wedding of any kind was jokingly claimed to be "Marrying Torchwood".)

Rose wasn't marrying Torchwood, she was marrying the Doctor, but that actually made the aliens about fifty times more likely to show up. Add that she herself was THE Rose Tyler, and it was nearly inevitable that they'd be there right before the minister.

They'd beaten Elvis by a good ten minutes, easy. The Doctor'd gone off with Tony so that the aliens couldn't announce his name or his nature in front of the crush of press, and Rose and Pete, with Jackie as a hostess, had opened up yet another alien peace conference, this time right next door to Skywalker's Star Wars Theme Park and Casino.

Some aliens didn't understand irony. Some of them reveled in it.

They'd called the Doctor periodically to ask questions and check on Tony, and find out what to do about the fact that the alien leader wanted Jackie as a gift. The Doctor's first suggestion of "so give her to them" didn't go over very well with the pending mother-in-law, although Rose was almost tired enough of her by that point to at least entertain the notion. As far as she was concerned, this whole trip, and therefore the entire attendant disaster as well, was all her mother's fault.

In the end, the aliens had understood that Pete and Jackie were lifemates, although they'd teased Pete a bit about needing supplements. They were twice his size, sure, but then Pete had gone armor-to-armor with Cybermen. He wasn't particularly afraid of them, but the aliens had really just been being blokes.

Point was, instead of this being a honeymoon suite and a wedding night, it was just another night and, for no reason Rose had yet been able to discern, a goldfish suite. She looked up to check with the Doctor, to see if he was any closer to an answer on the fish, yet.

He was staring at her, his dark eyes wide and full of some emotion Rose wasn't sure she could identify. "What is it?" Rose asked, softly.

"Your dress," he said, his voice tight and strange. "What happened to your dress?"

Rose looked down at her dress in confusion, then realized. "I have no idea," she admitted. "It does seem to be a lot pinker in this awful light, don't it?"

"The Crodidibibodians!" he exclaimed. Urgently, he snagged her shoulders, looking intently into her face. "They didn't shoot you, zap you with anything?"

There was a reason she'd been calling them "aliens" all day. "No, nothing like that. They scanned me with that little box they had. The translator rendered my name wrong, and they wanted to make sure they weren't allergic to me."

"Will you please remind me to fix that thing?" the Doctor demanded, his tone utterly disgusted.

"How'm I s'posed to remember, then?" Rose wondered. "You're the one that's got the ginormous alien brain, remember?"

"I know," he agreed, tone calmer now, his sonic screwdriver in hand and running over her, probably double checking. "You're right, of course, how're either of us to remember to fix something we don't need?"

"Exactly," Rose said, and looked at herself in the mirror above the still unexplained goldfish. "Tell you something else we don't need. Don't need a wedding dress that's gone pink, got punch on it, and missed the deadline, yeah?"

The Doctor shrugged, then stood up straight as he seemed to catch on. A glint came to his eyes, darkening them, and then they went darker still. She loved that look in his eyes, the way they smoldered and burned. She loved the way he looked now, hair disheveled and with his tie hanging loose, his shoes gone, his trousers rumpled. It made her want to dishevel him even more.

Her arms went around his next, light and sensual as her fingers wound their way into the back of his thick, wild hair. "What happened to it?" Rose asked, breathing the words gently right across the Doctor's throat.

She watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, shifted her hips to take better advantage. "Alien scanner excited the molecules," the Doctor said, the first word squeaking a bit more than the rest, and his breath rustling her hair. "Changed the dye a bit is all."

"Should get it off me anyway," she murmured. "Just in case, you know?" She took a moment to try to admire the open collar of his tuxedo shirt, blowing softly against the hollow of his throat, just to watch him shiver a bit.

The Doctor drew his head back to look at her, probably to protest the necessity. Rose was about to stomp on his foot for missing the point, but then his grin came up, bright and brilliant and just that little bit wicked. "Should, yeah," he agreed, long fingers trailing to caress the line of the straps of her dress, sending shivers up and down her spine.

"Might be best, in fact," he began, turning her around and slipping behind her so he could undo her zip, "if I give you a very thorough examination." His lips crossed her shoulder blade, punctuating his words with tiny, wet, heated kisses. "Check every inch of you. Just to be sure you weren't allergic to the aliens, you understand."

"Of course," Rose said knowingly, and wiggled her bum at him.

The Doctor pressed her into the cool, hideously colored tiles of the bathroom wall. Rose had the vague thought that she would have fired the designer who came up with this, and then the Doctor finished with her zip, and Rose couldn't think any more.

It was the oral fixation that got her every time. His tongue traced the length of Rose's spine, from her waist where the zip ended all the way up to her hair line. "You smell so good," he breathed. Rose tried to turn so she could kiss him, but the Doctor had other, definite plans now it seemed. "Taste good, too," he added.

Rose felt his fingers on her back again, twisting in the straps of her dress, and she gasped out a small protest. "Doctor!"

"S'ruined anyway," he reminded her, and the left strap snapped. The satisfaction of the sensation as the Doctor licked her shoulder blade where the strap had been made it well worth it.

The right strap snapped, too, and Rose was abruptly standing there in her wedding lingerie, the seduced instead of the seductress. The Doctor gasped and then his fingers found the lace of her garter belt, tracing and teasing. "What'd I do to earn this?" he asked breathlessly.

"Earn?" Rose wondered. Her brain, her logic centers, all that, had deserted her. All she was thinking about was cool tile against a strapless bra and cooler than human hands migrating down her hips, toward her thighs.

"A present of a Rose, wrapped up in ribbons and lace, just for me." He kissed the back of her neck, ran talented, knowing fingers all over every sensitized inch of her skin that wasn't covered. He nipped at her shoulders, he licked sweet, heated spirals of his signature on her back.

He pressed his hips into her, letting her feel how hard he was, how hard he was getting, how much he wanted this, wanted her. "Doctor, I want..."

"Shush, now," he said, leaning over her shoulder to nip at her ear. "It's my prezzie, and I'll unwrap it as slowly as I want."

Rose trailed a hand down between her thighs, shoved the lacy edge of her new knickers out of the way. "If you don't unwrap it soon..." She trailed off to gasp at the sensation as her fingers found her over-sensitive little clit and started rubbing it. "Gonna take it away from you," she finished, snaking her free hand behind her, to find his erection, pressing her hand hard against it.

The Doctor moaned low and pressed himself into her palm, rocking slowly against her as she stroked him, and stroked herself in the same rhythm. "Feels good," he murmured.

"Feel better without clothes," Rose suggested.

"Some clothes," he argued, large hands cupping her shoulders. He spun her around so quickly she nearly fell, but he was there, holding her up with his lips over hers, his hands gliding down her body like fabric falling.

Rose trailed her fingers under the Doctor's dress shirt, irritable at the undershirt and tugging to indicate her distress. She concentrated on it and kissing at once, and therefore did neither really well. The Doctor seemed to be having the exact same problem, because he broke the kiss with a frustrated growl and jerked his shirt and undershirt off over his head at once.

He dove for Rose's bra, fingers searching with a frenzy like the world would end if he didn't get at her breasts immediately. His lips followed his fingers, sucking and licking and nipping, regardless of the fabric, and when he pulled away from her, it was with a noise so frustrated it was almost a sob.

"Hey, it's alright," Rose soothed, worried in the face of his sudden desperation. She undid the front clasp and the little bit of fabric dropped to the floor.

The Doctor's cheeks went bright red, even as his eyes went pitch black. "Oh," he said, and reached for her.

"What's wrong?" Rose stopped him, a tentative fear starting in her stomach.

The Doctor jerked a hand through his hair. "It's nothing like that," he insisted. "Promise." He planted his lips over hers, kissed her like time was running out on them.

Rose understood his frustration with the bra, now that she tried to understand the clasp of his trousers while still kissing him. She broke the kiss and immediately turned her face toward it, tugging a bit rudely. She was almost certain she'd just realized what the hurry was, too, so that made it twice as urgent.

"Here," the Doctor offered. He took her hand away from the clasp of his trousers, and guided it back to her center, watching in appreciative fascination first her eyes and then her fingers. His gaze flitted back to her eyes again, his eyebrows telegraphing a "well, go on" message.

Rose telegraphed him one right back, and sank against the wall, sliding her fingers through the wet heat of her pooling juices. Her eyes closed for several moments as she just enjoyed the sensation, tracing her labia, teasing at her opening, pinching lightly at the base of her clitoris. She opened her eyes when a relieved sigh and a familiar sound - a bit like a gurgle, if she was honest - let her know that the Doctor was back to paying attention to the show.

He really was gorgeous like this, naked at full erection, eyes huge and like black holes, pulling her closer, making her want to fall, into them and into him. Rose couldn't stop herself reaching to touch him, her free hand occupying itself deliciously with sliding up his perfect (to her) length, sliding back down, cupping and cradling his testicles. The Doctor had nice proportions, built like his body was designed to fit hers any way they wanted.

They fell into a hasty rhythm, hips rocking and bodies leaning against each other with shared urgency. The only sounds were groans and moans and heavy breathing, gasps and whimpers, tiny cries. Rose stroked the Doctor's balls while his own hand fisted his length, his hips jerking to add to the friction. His eyes were locked on her fingers between her thighs. Rose couldn't believe how good this felt, and then he leaned over to lick a drop of sweat sliding down between her breasts. His free hand joined hers, and stayed there even when he pulled back, dark eyes dancing between sights.

He slid two fingers inside her, reaching deep. Rose gasped and ground against him, squeezed him carefully tighter. He pumped his fingers into her in the same rhythm he pumped his cock, quick and tight and short now, moving from urgent to desperate. "Rose, I'm gonna..." The Doctor's explanation was garbled, broken.

"S'okay," she whispered. She'd be right behind him.

He turned his fingers inside her and placed his thumb, still, at the base of her clit. "Come with me," he insisted.

Rose gasped and, with a hastily bitten back cry, she did.

* * *

They were leaning against the ugly wall of the bathroom, and Rose couldn't help thinking she'd ruined her lingerie as well as her dress. She was pretty sure the instructions said dry clean only, and it did absolutely nothing for alien semen. She had the Doctor's come decorating her thigh, her foot, and her bra (it had been on the floor right under them, after all). Her own fluids had run down her thighs and her stockings were pretty close to sticking together.

They were hot and sweaty and probably needed showers, and Rose couldn't remember the last time she'd felt quite this good. She leaned against the Doctor until her breathing slowed back to normal, and then started to peel off her stockings. This was the real secret to love and love making - that sometimes it wasn't like it said in the books.

"I can't believe we just did that," the Doctor mumbled.

"We traumatized those poor fish," Rose said.

"We actually managed to reach what I believe to have been a mutually satisfying orgasm with your mother in the same building."

"If you ever mention my mum and orgasm in the same sentence again..." Rose began.

"Why d'you think I didn't want to stop?" the Doctor said. "I remembered she had the room next door, and then I remembered she always managed to catch us back when we still lived with them... even when we moved to the flat in London... before we got much more than a kiss in. And that's a sure fire way to get rid of my erection every time, is to think about Jackie Tyler..."

"That's it," said Rose, "I'm cutting you off, you're sleeping on the sofa, no more sexing for you 'til you wash your brain and mine out."

"Oh, but Rose," he wheedled, putting on the full pleading puppy eyes and the desperation pose.

"With bleach," she said firmly.

The Doctor dropped to his knees before her, eyes merry and wicked, attempting to look contrite. "Not even if I say I'm sorry?" he asked. His fingers glided from her knees to her thighs, tingling instead of tickling, exciting her nerves just so with his feather-like touch. She spread her legs for him before she could stop herself, and then she didn't want to stop.

"Not even," Rose breathed.

"Not even if I do this?" He leaned forward, that clever, wicked tongue of his already working magic as he stroked it lightly up her thigh.

Rose's knees tried to buckle and she clasped his shoulders to keep from falling. "Yes, yes, yes," she said, then shook herself. "I mean no."

"No?" the Doctor asked. He prodded her still swollen and sensitive clit with the tip of her tongue.

"Yes..." Rose hissed. "No."

"Hmm," the Doctor murmured, the vibration of his lips against her making Rose's whole body vibrate. "Bit ambiguous," he said, and then licked her slit like a bowl of soft serve ice cream.

"What about the fish..." Rose mumbled, about the only thing she could think, and that only because she could see them, swimming around happily in her sink.

"Good point," the Doctor said, and stood up. He swept her up into a bridal hold and carried her out of the bathroom at last, back into their room proper. "Tony and I won them next door," he explained, dropping her onto the bed and climbing over her. "Was a decent way for a young man to spend an afternoon, shooting at aliens, shooting at humans, practicing with a light saber. They gave options on the prizes and he thought you'd like the fish."

His fingers teased her nipples to hard peaks, jolting her body back into arousal. She snaked a leg up around his skinny hip, pressing and tugging him into her. He held back, looking down at her, laughing. "Forgive me?" he asked.

"Yes, fine, anything," Rose insisted. "Inside me, now!"

He grinned and slowly sank into her, his expression slackening as he concentrated on the heat and the sensation. "You feel amazing," he breathed.

There was a knock at the door. The Doctor and Rose stared at each other. "Ignore it," Rose suggested, but it didn't really feel like that was what was going to happen.

He tried, anyway, a tentative thrust, a twist of his hips that made Rose's breath catch. She rocked against him, just wanting to enjoy him, them, like this, for a little while longer before their crazy life came back in again.

The knock at the door repeated itself. Rose went slack and the Doctor slumped above her. "Never bloody fails," he said. "Never, ever."

"Don't you dare," Rose ordered, when she realized he was about to open the door in the altogether. "Anybody sees you, they'll all want one. Put on a robe."

"Yes dear," the Doctor grumbled. "Woulda served her right, you know, and answered those stupid questions she thinks I don't know she keeps asking you, about my alien bits..." His robe on and tied, he opened the door.

It wasn't her mum. Rose realized that from the fact that the Doctor looked down so quickly, and then dropped to his knees. She got up and snuck both their pajamas out of the bags and into the bathroom so they could slip into them.

Twenty minutes later, everyone was showered and jim-jammed and piled into bed together. Tony, snuggled up to the Doctor's side and holding the hand of the arm Rose had flung over the pair of them, muttered, "Thanks for letting me stay."

"You know you can come to us whenever you need," Rose reminded him.

"I know," he said. "But Mummy's gonna be mad, when she and Daddy get done. I just... they were so _loud_!"

"They were fighting?" the Doctor asked warily.

"No, wrestling," Tony said indignantly. "And tickling and giggling and if you ask me..."

"Please don't tell me any more," the Doctor begged. "I'm too young for that kind of horror."

"You're silly," Tony said, laughing.

"You're sillier," the Doctor answered.

"All right, kids," Rose interrupted, "it's time for both of you to get some sleep."

"Yes, Rose," they both answered obediently.

Rose leaned over the Doctor to kiss her brother's cheek, then kissed the Doctor's, and then she lay back down and closed her eyes. "Love you," she said.

"Love you, too," they both answered.

"We'll be running for our lives in the morning," the Doctor whispered.

"I know," Rose agreed. If her mum didn't hit them with another of her "Corrupting Tony" diatribes, the goldfish would probably turn out to be mutants or something. "Wouldn't trade it."

"Marry me?" the Doctor asked playfully.

Rose placed a kiss on his shoulder. "Next time we run past an altar," she promised.


End file.
